


Sap

by wrabbit



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort but Defiled, Light Masochism, M/M, Public Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: "Are you enjoying this, Mr. Hickey?"
Relationships: Harry D. S. Goodsir/Cornelius Hickey
Kudos: 22
Collections: Unofficial FFA Unanon Collection





	Sap

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a shorter, anonymous drabble on Dreamwidth. Inspiration from [A Bloody Husband](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843781) by libraralien and [Mousetrap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743484) by blusherVIII.

It should have been a pitiful sight, but there was something wrong about it. Mr. Hickey put dread into Harry's heart, even in this most virtuous place of healing, and for what reason? Harry's soul withdrew from the man like green from a cold wind.

Harry finished cleaning and had started to dry and dress the healing wounds. His patient's pain should have lessened, but his breathing had only grown more laboured, and he would not rest. The muscles under Harry's hand strained, and released.

Mr. Hickey groaned, and it sounded almost like a laugh, almost like relief. Harry did not look up to see his face.

"Are you enjoying this, Mr. Hickey?"

"Of course not." An exhale, and restless movement on the mattress. "What do you take me for, doctor?"

Harry's hands were still on the man's thigh, holding a medicated cloth to the worst of it. He felt Mr. Hickey press his hips forward into the cot. The sinuous twist of his spine as he rolled up was oddly beautiful. Mr. Hickey could have said nothing, but instead he chose to gloat over the indecency, and his own wiles.

Harry saw him as if from a great distance. Mr. Hickey's arousal, and whatever the details of his personal problems, were no more to him than a tangled stand of oak seen from a hilltop. Something over there, something not directly related to the body on the cot in front of him.

But he considered Mr. Hickey's question while he worked. He had been asking himself the same thing. What did he take Mr. Hickey for? Order, scoundrel. Genus, seditious. Species, unidentified.

Harry could not classify him further, and he did not wish to. It was not the dirtiness that shamed him in Harry's eyes. It was the other qualities of a soul that he had occasion to observe and sense about this man. He did not wish to become more familiar.

Harry neither fondled nor shied away from handling his flesh. It did not seem to matter what he did. Mr. Hickey continued to drive into the mattress while Harry did nothing except hold the cloth to the last of his leaking wounds and stare at the timber walls, thinking now of the material it was hewn from: oak, and soil, and rain, and sunlight. So many remnants they were. Something cut out of place, everywhere one looked.


End file.
